


[insert joke about pipes]

by notallbees



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: A/B/O with critical thinking, Alpha Brock Rumlow, Alpha Bucky Barnes, Alpha Peggy Carter, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Masturbation, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Steve Rogers, Omega Verse, Oral Sex, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Scent Kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-18 21:33:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9403727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notallbees/pseuds/notallbees
Summary: Steve's day is already off to a bad start.Steve doesn't date alphas, or at least he tries not to. With a string of exes hanging around, Steve does the only sensible thing he can: pretends to be dating his hot alpha plumber. Unfortunately, Steve's plan has as many holes as his pipes.And no, that's not a euphemism.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lickerish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lickerish/gifts).



> O h m y god.
> 
> This fic has, somehow, been a year and a half in the making. I kept getting stuck and going away and coming back to it, and I cannot tell you how good it is to finally get it out there.
> 
> I hope somebody reads it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jfyi Steve has some past relationships with Peggy, Lorraine, and Rumlow. There are minor interactions with each of them in the story. **Skip to the end notes for more detailed warnings.**

Steve's day is already off to a bad start.

He's two days behind on a deadline and his chest cold has been lingering for a week. The last thing he needs when he's sleep-deprived, sore from coughing, and panicking about his work, is for his sink to erupt and flood the kitchen. 

The trouble is, sinks don't take memos, so it erupts anyway.

They haven't found cover for his building's super since the guy broke his leg last week, which might be a blessing in disguise because Steve sends a whiny text to Sam and forty minutes later there's an attractive plumber at his front door with a broad, friendly smile.

“Hey,” he says briskly. “I'm Bucky. I'm here to fix a sink. Are you Steve?”

 

 

Steve shows Bucky the mess, then leaves him to work while he sends half a dozen thank you texts to Sam. 

_get back to work_ , Sam replies. _loser._

Steve brings his laptop to the table behind the couch where he can see Bucky working, then worries that it might be creepy and moves to the couch instead. 

“Been in here long?” Bucky calls out. 

“Huh? The sink?”

Bucky laughs. “No, pal, you lived in the building long? Seems like a nice place.”

“Oh, yeah,” Steve says. “About two years.” His nose starts running and he looks around; his tissues are still in the kitchen. 

“Hey,” Bucky says when he wanders in to grab them. “Looks like your garbage disposal had a tantrum.” He climbs out from under the sink and wipes his forehead with the back of his wrist. Steve tries to blow his nose as subtly as he can. Bucky kindly ignores it. “Good news or bad news first?”

Steve shrugs. “Bad, I guess.”

Bucky gives him a lovely, sympathetic smile. “Okay, excuse my French, but your garbage disposal is fucked.”

“Great,” Steve mutters, wincing. “But that's the bad news, right?”

“Right,” Bucky says, nodding. “I can patch it and give you a little longer, a few weeks maybe, so you have some time to figure out what you want to do. How much you wanna spend on a replacement.”

Steve sighs in relief. “Okay, that would be great, thanks.” 

Bucky nods. “Give me ten minutes to sort this out, then I'll get you some quotes.”

Steve drifts back to the couch, but he's only just gotten settled again when his buzzer goes. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, getting to his feet with a scowl. He goes to the door and picks up the phone. “Yeah?”

“Hello there, stranger,” says a rich, familiar voice. Steve closes his eyes. _Fuck._ It’s Lorraine. “Aren't you going to invite me in?”

Steve freezes, then glances over his shoulder in the direction of the kitchen. “Uhh—”

“Oh, never mind! A sweet guy just held the door for me. I'll be up in a minute.”

Steve groans. “ _Shit_.” He blows his nose again, then goes to stare mournfully at his messy, limp hair and his Rudolph nose in the bathroom mirror. A minute later, Lorraine knocks cheerfully on his front door. He opens it up and, of course, she looks completely perfect. 

“Hello, Steven,” Lorraine says in her low, arch voice. Steve resists the urge to lean closer, but she reaches out anyhow and touches the zip of his hoodie. “How’s it going, babe?” she tugs the zip down a couple of inches. 

Steve hides a shiver. “Oh, you know,” he says, his tone evasive. Lorraine has a way of looking at him as if she can see right inside him. A little part of Steve wants to let her, except that their one night stand is still fresh in his mind. He's still paying for the new bed for one thing. He's got a feeling that if he let her inside his brain as well as his bedroom, she'd go right on making a mess. 

“Oh, no, are you sick?” she mutters, spotting his red nose and eyes. 

Steve shrugs. “Just a cold. Actually I'm working right now, I should get back—”

As he's speaking, Lorraine tilts her head, her eyes narrowing in confusion. "Is there—have you got someone here?"

Steve jerks the door reflexively. "No."

Lorraine's expression widens. "Oh. I didn't realize it was like _that_ ," she spits, sounding weirdly bitter.

"It's not like anything," Steve says quickly, frowning. He turns to glance back into the apartment, but Bucky is out of sight. 

"Right, your apartment just smells like rutting alpha because you like it that way."

Steve frowns, confused. "Alpha? That—" That's when Steve realizes what Lorraine is talking about. It's Bucky. Steve's sinuses are still clogged from his cold, and from the guy's behavior he would've put his money on Beta, but then, Steve isn't really known for his perceptiveness in determining people's designations. But if Bucky's really an Alpha, he must stink now that he's got a sweat on from wrestling with Steve's garbage disposal. Steve hesitates before he speaks again, a deliciously stupid idea dropping into his head. "I mean—it's not like that _yet_ ," he says tentatively, "but—I don't wanna jinx it?"

Lorraine shrugs and takes a step away. "Fine. Okay. Have fun, I guess."

Steve feels a pang of guilt. "Lorraine, wait—"

"Yes?" she says quickly, breezing up to the doorway again. She leans in much too close, close enough to scent him. 

"Nothing," Steve mutters, hiding a shudder. "I really oughta get back, I'll see you around." He slams the door in her face before she can say anything else, trying not to feel bad about that. He knows, rationally, that Lorraine has a thing for manipulating him. She's a _master_ at it. Knowing that still doesn't help when it's right in his face, smelling like pine and cold water and a little like sex. Good thing he can't smell it right now.

When she's gone, Steve leans against the door for a moment to catch his breath. He really has way too many alphas in his life right now. 

"Almost done!" Bucky yells from the kitchen. Steve pushes himself away from the door and ambles over to where Bucky is still crouched on the floor, halfway inside the cupboard under the sink. Now that he knows what he's looking for, Steve can sense just a tiny hint of Bucky's scent, something summery and woodsy, but he still wouldn't really have known to peg him as Alpha. Maybe just a particularly strong-smelling Beta. 

"Do you—sorry, I should've offered you coffee."

Bucky laughs. "Nah, that's okay, pal. I won't be long, and I have another job to get to."

"Okay," Steve says, feeling slightly disappointed. 

After a minute, Bucky straightens up, rubbing his hands on his overalls. “There,” he says, leaning over to test it. He grins at Steve. “All done. I'll email you some options for a replacement, but feel free to shop around.”

“Thank you.” Steve finds himself smiling back without even meaning to. The guy _does_ have a nice smile. And, from what little Steve can tell, a nice scent too. The rest of a stupid plan forms in Steve’s head suddenly and he blurts it out before stopping to think. “Hey, could you just do one thing real quick for me while you’re here?”

Bucky nods, all obliging friendliness. “If I can clear it up in five minutes, we’ll call it a favor.”

Steve bites his lip. “Uh, it might sound a little weird.”

 

 

Peggy arrives right on time for dinner that night. Right on time being fifteen minutes late, which is standard for Peggy. Steve opens the door and her face changes immediately.

"Oh, Steve, I'm sorry, have you already got company?" she asks a little haltingly. "Do I have the wrong day?"

He frowns. "Uh, no? You're almost on time as well."

She gives him a strange smile as she steps inside. "You're not going to tell me, are you?"

Steve grins suddenly. He'd forgotten, with the rush of making dinner, and the fact that he can't smell it himself, but Bucky's scent must still be lingering in the apartment. Peggy actually looks a little uncomfortable which makes Steve feel kind of guilty, but she also looks impressed, and that's a pleasant feeling for once. 

"It's not a big deal," he says, looking away from her. He can still feel her watching him as he walks over to the kitchen. 

"They smell good, whoever they are," she calls after him, angling for more information. 

Steve laughs. "Still not telling you. I think it was a one time deal anyway."

"That's a shame," she tells him when he comes back with a bottle of wine and two glasses. "I haven't seen you looking this chipper in months."

They settle on the couch, and Steve can't help but notice that Peggy sits further away from him than usual. When they're together she has a tendency to pick at him; to stroke his hair, or rub his feet, or neaten his clothes for him. Steve knows that she does these things unconsciously and out of kindness, but there's also a protective, possessive side to it that annoys him. As much as he loves Peggy, the freedom now that she thinks he's got another alpha taking care of him is a breath of fresh air. 

“Fucking hell,” she says, starting to laugh after a minute of tense silence. “Steve, your couch stinks of rutting alpha.”

“Sorry,” he says, feigning bashfulness. “I promise you, the couch remains virtuous. We literally just sat and talked.”

He tries to keep a straight face, but Peggy laughs harder and Steve can’t help but get caught up in her infectious joy. It’s obvious that she wants to know more; as soon as she’s stopped laughing, Peggy fixes him with a _look_ that Steve is normally very bad at hiding things from. 

“Let’s watch something,” he says, avoiding her gaze. 

 

 

It goes well for an hour or so. They watch Netflix, then Steve fetches the lasagna from the oven and they eat on the couch.

Steve hasn’t slept well for a few nights because of his stuffy nose, so another hour finds him slumped over with his head on Peggy’s knee. She runs her fingers slowly through his hair, brushing out the tangles with her fingertips and pressing at his skull gently. The pressure of her fingers is familiar and comforting, relieving the heavy, leaden feeling in his sinuses. 

Steve sighs contentedly and snuggles up against her warmth, letting his eyes fall shut. Peggy makes a soothing noise and he breathes in what he can smell of her rich, chocolatey scent with a smile. When she touches the back of his neck, Steve shivers pleasurably before going totally boneless against her. 

“You need anything, sweetheart?” she asks in a low, soft rumble. 

“Nuh uh,” Steve murmurs, nuzzling against her thigh. 

Peggy wraps her warm fingers over the back of his neck, then pushes them up through his hair again, scratching his scalp softly. She repeats the motion for several minutes; stroking up and down the back of his head and neck, until Steve is practically purring. He’s golden and drifting, almost asleep when she changes her tactic and starts to stroke the shell of his ear with the pad of her thumb. Steve groans. He’s always loved having his ears touched and played with; Peggy picked that one up fast when they started seeing each other. 

“Steve,” she whispers. He replies with a soft grunt, all the effort he can manage right now. Her thumb rubs behind his ear, caressing the gland that hides beneath his skin there. 

Steve shivers. “Pegs,” he whispers. 

Peggy shifts her weight, moving her legs slightly under his head, and a rush of her warm scent envelops him even with his stuffy nose. It's spicier than before, darker, which can only mean she's getting turned on. 

“Oh,” Steve mutters. He sits up quickly, wincing through the head rush. Peggy puts a proprietary hand on his knee.

“Don't worry, Steve,” she says, glancing at him. “I can control myself.”

He screws his eyes up for a moment, trying to suppress a sneeze. Peggy watches him with a faint, sad smile. “It's not you, Peg,” he says in a lame voice. 

Peggy laughs. “Yes, it is. And that's okay. Things didn't work between us for a lot of reasons.”

“Yeah, I know,” Steve mutters, looking down at his hands resting in his lap. “If you weren't an alpha I'd totally be up for a booty call.”

“Steve,” Peggy says, starting to frown. Her mouth purses into a pretty, displeased bow while she puts together her next words. “I know it's easier for you to reduce this to designation,” she says eventually, the calm in her voice doing nothing to disguise her anger. “But you'd do anything for the right person, no matter what's in their pants.”

Steve winces. “That’s not—I didn’t—”

Peggy leans over and tilts his face up to hers by his chin. “I hope this one’s right,” she says softly, her voice warm and loving. Guilt floods through Steve, and he can’t bring himself to tell her it’s not true. 

“Yeah,” he finds himself saying instead. “Me too.”

 

 

It's two days after the broken garbage disposal that Steve wakes up with a clear head, his sense of smell finally restored. He's still half asleep when he his phone goes off, rousing him from a pleasant haze of arousal. The sheets are slightly damp underneath him, and he scowls at the pillow wrapped in his arms, as if it's somehow to blame for him dry humping it in his sleep. 

He reaches over to check his phone. His scowl deepens. It's Brock.

_buyin u a beer 2nite. cum for u at 7._

Steve texts back, _i'm working._

Brock, as usual, is undeterred. _one beer babe what cud it hurt. 7._

"Ugh." Steve groans and flops back into his pillows. He wishes, momentarily, that he could find an excuse to get Bucky over again. That seemed to do the trick the other day. 

He rolls himself out of bed and goes to make coffee, but hesitates three steps out of his bedroom door. There's an unfamiliar scent in his apartment; for a moment, Steve actually thinks someone else must be there, but of course his living room is deserted when he walks in there. The smell gets even stronger when he passes the couch. It's like a freshly baked sponge cake that's been soaked with whiskey. It makes his knees go a little weak. 

It's nothing like Lorraine's cold water alpine scent, or Peggy's spicy raw cocoa, and it's a thousand times more pleasant than Brock and his scent of old beer, barbecue sauce and semi-clean jockstraps. Brock basically smells like a sports bar after a college football game. Seeing as that's where they met, it's little wonder that Steve didn't wise up to him sooner. 

Steve shakes himself and resumes his search for coffee. It's far too early to be thinking about sports bars or clingy one night stands, or the unexpectedly slick-inducing fallout of asking a cute plumber to roll around on his couch for five minutes. A cute Alpha plumber.

Once he's made coffee and downed half of it, Steve goes back to bed and jerks off for an hour. It's rare that he opens his toybox just for himself; he's not all that keen on getting fucked, and the sex toys that he does keep around tend to be kept for the Omegas and Betas he brings home. 

Sometimes, though, he just wants something up his ass. Sometimes like when he's woken up to find his apartment smelling like honeyed liquor and slick running down the inside of his pajamas pants while he makes coffee. Sometimes that means checking his emails while he sits on a vibrator and pictures himself getting on his knees for a certain cute plumber. So what.

 

 

Brock arrives, more or less true to his word, at around seven thirty, just as Steve had started to hope he'd forgotten. Steve ignores the buzzer, but after a minute of blessed silence, there's a knock on his apartment door.

"Rogers!" Brock yells. "C'mon, open up. I know you're in there, it smells like a goddamn whorehouse!"

Incandescent, Steve strides over to the door and yanks it open. "What the hell," he snaps. "Could you maybe lower your fucking voice in my hallway, asswad?"

Brock doesn't look the slightest bit chastened. "Hey, babe, I meant it as a compliment you know." He leans into the door frame, adopting a practiced slouch. "Ain't often you let loose like this. Got another A-star sniffing around again, is that it? Got you all riled up?”

“It’s not serious,” Steve says, cagey as hell.

“I knew you were a filthy little knot tease,” Brock says and leans in closer, his pupils wide. "Not giving you what you want though, are they?"

Steve takes half a step back, cursing Brock's ridiculously keen sense of smell while stammering out a response. "No, I—I mean he will, it's just—we haven't yet—"

"Maybe I can help with that," Brock murmurs, prowling after him. He kicks the door shut behind him, and his nostrils flare at the scent inside the apartment. Steve _might_ have accidentally jerked off on the couch too, surrounded by Bucky's lingering scent. "Babe," he says in a low, commiserating voice as he reaches out for Steve, "don't be so lonely, kid. I can give you what you need."

For a moment, Steve considers it. If Brock would shut his mouth during, and fuck off as soon as they're done, maybe Steve _could_ use a good knotting. It might work Bucky out of his system, if nothing else. The hesitation must show on his face, because Brock grabs his shoulders and pulls him in for a messy kiss. Steve’s too shocked to protest at first, and by the time he regains his wits, Brock’s already biting his bottom lip and tugging his head back with a handful of Steve’s hair. It’s thrilling and nasty, just like Brock himself. He walks them back until Steve’s shoulders hit the bookshelf, then he moves one hand up to grip the back of Steve's neck, holding him in place. 

“Brock—” Steve moans, putting his hands up to Brock’s shoulders with the intention of pushing him away. His fingers curl around the lapels of Brock’s leather jacket instead. 

“Yeah, babe,” Brock growls, grinding his thumb over the gland behind Steve's ear where his scent is strongest. 

Steve gasps against Brock's mouth. That kind of thing would be intimate and incredibly hot with someone he was more involved with, but with Brock, it feels invasive and overly possessive. His other hand presses at the small of Steve's back to pull him close, then slips down to his ass.

"Brock, hey," Steve gasps, breaking off the kiss by turning his head to one side. 

“Such a good little pussycat,” Brock murmurs, pressing Steve against the shelves with his hip. “So sweet of you to get yourself all wet and ready for me—”

“Did not,” Steve snarls, but he’s starting to tremble in Brock’s arms. When he’s this close to Brock—his grimy, hickory-smoked scent drowning out everything else—it’s easy to remember why he almost fucked Brock in an alleyway behind the sports bar they met in. He turns Steve’s stomach, in not entirely the wrong way. Still, if this is gonna happen then Brock’s gotta speak a little less. Try not at all. “Hey,” Steve says, rolling his shoulders back. Brock bites the side of his neck and Steve forgets whatever he was going to say next; he goes limp against Brock while his voice sounds like it’s melting in his throat.

“That’s it, kid.” Brock presses behind Steve’s ear again, scraping over the skin this time with his fingernails.

Steve shudders uncomfortably. The touch is too similar to the way Peggy touches him, but mean and manipulative instead of comforting. Before he can pull away, however, Brock's fingers quest lower, stroking his ass through his sweatpants. Brock utters a low groan when he finds them damp under his fingertips, and Steve flushes hard. 

“God, baby,” Brock groans, pressing in harder and rubbing Steve’s hole through his clothes. “You smell like dessert.”

Brock’s own scent has thickened up; Steve almost chokes on it when he takes a breath to protest Brock’s behaviour. His throat fills with the stink of a high school locker room and spilled barbecue sauce.

"Stop it," he says, pushing Brock away by his shoulders. 

Brock pouts. "Come on, babe, just a quickie? Christ, I bet you're so wet and loose I could pick you up and slide you right onto my knot."

The thought of it makes Steve feel sick. "Ugh," he grunts, backing away from Brock. "Forget it, I don't wanna fuck you." 

Brock's expression hardens. "Still with this, Rogers? There's playing hard to get, and then there's just being a bitch."

Steve glares. "I don't like that word." He stalks to the door on shaky legs and wrenches it open again, not surprised to find that neither of them had even shut it properly. "Get out."

Brock laughs. "Come on, you can't be serious."

"Out."

"Alright, look, I'm sorry. Maybe I'm going a little fast? Why don't we just go for that beer—"

Steve pulls out his phone and dials a three digit number. Brock watches him, bewildered. "Police," Steve says after a few moments, and Brock's expression twists into something nasty.

"Bitch," he spits, stalking out of the door. "I hope new guy's knot isn't too big for your tight, bony little ass."

Steve rolls his eyes and slams the door. 

 

 

"So, tell me again how this happened?"

Steve's sitting on the kitchen worktop, swinging his legs and not even pretending to look upset about the fact that the u-bend under his kitchen sink has a huge crack in it. He might be more upset if not for the fact that Bucky is crouched on the floor, halfway inside the cupboard again. The best part is that, this time, Steve can smell him. The faint traces left behind two days after his last visit were _nothing_ to how he really smells in person. There’s that deep undertone of honeyed, whiskey-soaked sponge cake, sure, but over that is something warm and bright. Steve’s not sure what it is, but it smells like a hot day, something drying under midday sun. 

“Hmm?” Steve says, looking down at Bucky’s upturned face and the expectant expression. “Sorry, what?”

Bucky indicates the pipes under the sink. “Tell me the story again?”

"My ex came around," Steve lies carelessly. 

“He’d be the one that smells like a sports bar at two AM?”

Steve winces. “Yeah. It’s not as obvious when he buys you a drink in a sports bar at two AM.”

Bucky laughs at him kindly, seeming to appreciate the absurdity of the situation. “This is why you wanted me to roll around on your couch last week?”

“Yeah,” Steve mutters, blushing slightly. “It kind of worked, in fairness to past-Steve. This guy’s just really determined.”

“Happy to oblige if you think it’ll help,” Bucky says, shrugging, but he’s got a mischievous look in his eye and the corner of his smile. 

Encouraged, Steve plows on. "Anyway he showed up, said he just wanted to talk, and I fell for it like a sucker."

Bucky smirks. "You don't seem like much of a sucker to me." 

“Only for a pretty face,” Steve says, and mentally kicks himself. Nice line, Rogers. 

Blushing, Bucky looks back at the tangle under the sink. "So, what, then he decided that of all the things he wanted to break, he'd go for a pipe?"

Steve tries really, really hard to keep a straight face. "Yup."

"Well, I'm glad you're okay."

"What do you mean?"

Bucky glances up at him. "Well, he could've really hurt you. I'm glad nothing happened worse than a busted pipe."

"Oh," Steve says quietly, going a little pink. "Yeah, me too." He smiles. "And hey, at least I know a good plumber now."

Bucky starts laughing. "How many do you know? I might be awful." He pauses and schools his expression into something mockingly severe. "I'm not, though, obviously, I'm highly professional and you should say that if anyone asks."

Steve grins, shuffling forwards slightly so he can peer down at Bucky. "Well, you seem pretty great to me."

There's an awkward moment where Bucky looks up and catches his eye, and Steve feels a thrill run through him. But Bucky quickly looks away. 

"Hey, uh, Steve?”

“Uh huh?”

Bucky frowns, chewing over his thoughts carefully. “I, uh—I should tell you that I'm not—"

The door buzzer sounds. "Shit," Steve says, jumping down from his perch. "Hold that thought."

It turns out to be Peggy at the door, and Steve briefly considers refusing her entry before deciding that it's not worth the trouble. He stays in the living room after he buzzes her in, waiting to head her off before she can get anywhere near Bucky. 

"Hello, darling," she says when he opens the door, going to hug him. "You look remarkably cheerful today." 

Steve submits to the hug with as much good grace as he can muster. Peggy, normally effusive and tactile with him, is even more restrained than she was the other night. She clasps his shoulders briefly before releasing him again, and her smile is a little strained despite the curiosity on her face. Steve can't help feeling bad about their fight-that-wasn't-a-fight.

"Am I interrupting?" 

"Not exactly," Steve admits grudgingly. 

“Hey, uh, Steve?” Bucky yells from the kitchen. 

Peggy’s face lights up, and Steve dances away from her with a stern backward look to keep her mouth shut. “Hey,” he says, ducking into the kitchen. Bucky is still on his knees in front of the sink, but he looks like he’s packing up. Steve licks his lips. Bucky smells _really_ good. “Everything okay?”

“Yes and no,” Bucky says, flashing him a smile as he gets to his feet. “Good news is that I can fix this no problem, bad news is I gotta go fetch a part from home.”

Steve’s face falls. “Oh, okay. But can you come back today?”

Bucky glances over into the other room, where Peggy is pretending to look at Steve’s bookcase. “I can come back tomorrow if that’s better for you.”

“No, dude, it’s not—” Steve starts laughing. “You’re not in the way or anything. And besides, I kinda need to do my dishes.”

“No kidding,” Bucky teases, side-eying Steve’s precariously stacked pile of dishes. “Alright, I’ll be about forty minutes, then I’ll get it fitted as quick as I can.”

Steve beams. “You’re a star, Buck, thank you.”

Bucky gives him an odd look. “Uh, yeah, no problem. Back soon.”

As soon as the door shuts behind him, Peggy rounds on Steve with wide, accusing eyes. “Steven Rogers!” she says, revelling in the telling off she’s about to give him.

“Ugh, I know, I know,” Steve groans, sinking onto the couch. 

“Steve,” she says gently, sitting across from him. “You don’t date Alphas.”

He lets out another groan and covers his face with his hands. “Nope.”

“But he’s _gorgeous_.”

“Yup.”

She makes a thoughtful noise. “It’s strange, he could almost be a Beta. His smell is—I mean, it’s _strong_ , but it’s—”

“It’s like getting drunk and lying in the sun,” Steve moans, sinking lower in his seat. “It’s—fuck, it’s like toast and honey in bed and then slow, sticky sex for three hours. It’s—”

“Jesus Christ, Romeo, I get the point.”

Steve smiles guiltily. "Sorry."

“So I guess you two are...” Peggy leaves that hanging, and for one guilty moment Steve wants to keep on pretending, but she would see through that in an instant.

“We’re not,” he says, glancing away and biting his lip. “I mean, I haven’t said anything. He’s just been over to fix a couple things, that’s all.”

Peggy reaches back and then slugs him in the arm, hard. 

“Ow, Jesus!”

“You told me you were involved, you sneaky little shit!”

Steve scowls at her. “I said we _talked_.”

“On your couch?”

Steve finally starts blushing. “Okay, yeah, I can explain. Lorraine showed up again, before you came over.”

Peggy eyes narrow immediately. “What.” 

“It's okay, really, I handled it. If you wanna be mad at anyone, try Rumlow.”

It's the wrong thing to say and he knows it as soon as the words are out, but his brain is apparently not feeling cooperative today. 

Peggy puffs up furiously, her cheeks flushing. “I'm going to _end_ that weaselly little fucknut. What did he do this time?” 

Steve glances over his shoulder, then mutters, “Well, if anyone asks, he took a sledge to my u-bend, which I promise you is not a euphemism. That's after he tried to get hot and heavy with me and I told him to drop dead.” 

Peggy nods, frowning. She still looks put out, but is marginally appeased by Steve's reassurance. “I'm still going to break his arm,” she mutters angrily. “Or maybe snap his dick off.”

“Be my guest,” Steve says, right as Bucky steps in from the kitchen. 

“Uh, Steve? Can I leave my tools here until I get back?”

“Yeah, man,” Steve says, grinning at him. “I'll give you twenty percent of whatever I get for them on craigslist.”

Bucky snorts. “Real decent of you,” he says, then he tips an ironic salute to Peggy and ducks out the front door.

For a long moment Peggy is suspiciously quiet, watching the closed door. Then she slowly turns around to look at Steve. 

“Oh my god.”

“Yeah.”

“Steve, he's _gorgeous_.”

“I know.” 

“Imagine how beautiful your kids would be!”

Steve hits her with a throw pillow.

 

 

Unfortunately, Peggy hasn't left by the time Bucky returns and works his magic on the sink. It's just as well that Steve hasn't come up with anything intelligent or funny to say to Bucky, because it would all be wasted with Peggy monitoring every word like the fucking NSA. 

“Thanks again,” Steve says as he sees Bucky to the door. “I'll transfer you the money now so you're not waiting on a check.”

“I appreciate it, thanks,” Bucky says, shifting his toolbox to the other hand. Steve gets an odd feeling for a moment that Bucky wants to shake his hand, but by the time he's extracted his fingers from the pocket of his skinny jeans, the moment has passed. “Hey, do me one more favor?” Bucky says, taking a step backwards into the hall. 

Steve grins. “Yeah?” 

“Take care of yourself, okay? Get a dog, or a restraining order.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but he finds that he's still smiling, the suggestion feeling like what it is: a friendly suggestion, rather than an accusation that he can't take care of himself. “I'll think about it,” he says, leaning out a little into the hallway and lowering his voice. “Unless you know somewhere I can get your scent in a bottle, that'd do the trick.”

To his surprise, Bucky flinches away from him, his face coloring, and he drops his gaze from Steve's. “Uh, sorry—I can't—”

“Forget it,” Steve says quickly, blushing himself. “I'm sorry.”

“No, it's—”

“I'm being a jerk, it's cool. See you next time something breaks, yeah?”

Bucky salutes again and heads off down the hallway, his face beet red. 

“Well played, Rogers!” Peggy yells from somewhere within the apartment. 

Steve groans and shuts the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning:** Rumlow attempts to coerce Steve into having sex. Steve is initially unwilling, but almost goes along with it. It doesn't really quite venture into dubcon but it's wobbly.


End file.
